


Helsinki Affliction

by HONEYPOTSUNG



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Death, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gang Violence, Gangs, Graphic Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Murder, Non-Graphic Violence, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-11-27 06:34:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20943926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HONEYPOTSUNG/pseuds/HONEYPOTSUNG
Summary: Panic wasn't the word to describe his feelings. Dread, fear, trepidation, words better fit to make up not even a quarter of how Jisung was feeling in this moment. He planned to go out with his friends for their usual friday night drinks. Not end up down an alley, covered in a stranger's blood with a CZ 75 semi-automatic pistol being held about 10 inches from his forehead while the man in the black trench coat wiped the blood from the aforementioned stranger's throat, from his blade.Jisung lands himself on a tight rope between life or death and the only thing keeping him balanced? His eight captors.





	1. One

Panic wasn't the word to describe his feelings. Dread, fear, trepidation, words better fit to make up not even a quarter of how Jisung was feeling in this moment. He planned to go out with his friends for their usual Friday night drinks. Not end up down an alley, covered in a stranger's blood with a CZ 75 semi-automatic pistol being held about 10 inches from his forehead while the man in the black trench coat wiped the blood from the aforementioned stranger's throat, from his blade. Jisung guessed he specialises in short-range melee attacks while the taller more broad shouldered one pointing the gun at his skull prefered his firearms, but now wasn't the time to think about which attacks these men preferred when he had just witnessed them murder someone right in front of him.

"P-please i...i'm just t-tr-" Jisung stuttered and sobbed, he only now just noticed he was crying, blubbering for a better word. He was shaking and his knees were about to give way, yet he was glued to the spot. He could turn and run, he could scream for help, but where would that get him? In a grave. He felt like he was about to pee himself but he tried his best to keep his composure and sucked in a shaky inhale. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the man in front of him scoffing at him and pulling back the safety trigger and pressing his finger to the cool metal clip on the underside of the gun. Jisung braced himself for the immense pain and then the coming silence, the one everyone heard about in books and movies. He scrunched his eyes as he listened to the man chuckle and pull the small trigger. He winced, however let out a breath of relief when the gun locked and wouldn't shoot. He felt like he won the lotto. Except it was his life.

The man cocked it multiple times before throwing it on the ground angrily and hastily pulling out a second handgun, a CZ-USA 85 combat pistol to be exact. Jisung wasn't sure why he was focused on the guns the man was using, or why he knew so much about weapons in the first place. He always liked them, but not enough to be standing at point blank range from one. He was just trying to distract himself before he died. He pulled it from the black leather holster hidden under his blood covered bomber jacket, and aimed it at Jisung. But before he could shoot him the boy was already knocked out and on the ground. In his state of mass hysteria, Jisung had been too caught up in what the man with the pistols was doing to notice the man in the black coat sneak along the shadowy wall and up behind him, only to pistol whip him with the handle of one of his blades. The man in the trench coat hoisted Jisung over his shoulder and grunted as he pushed past the man sulking. "I wanted to kill him! Put him down!"

"No we have to go, the boys need to clean up and we need to get back before we become suspicious. Now grab the dead guy and lets go," the man grunted, carelessly throwing Jisung into the white van through the sliding door, his head made a rather harsh thud when it collided against the other side of the van door. It resonated through the quiet alley as the other boy picked up the first handgun and pocketed it, lifted the lifeless body into the van. He hissed as more blood spurted from his open wounds, where the man with the blade had impaled his jugular, and sprayed onto his already blood soaked bomber jacket, soaking through his black turtleneck sweater as well. He pulled the door shut and smacked the side of the van, wasting no time in climbing into the back seat where he joined the boy from earlier, a taller boy wearing clothes to be considered almost indecent, wiping his face with a wet cloth; and a broad-shouldered man in the driver's seat who broke the silence as they drove off, "who's the extra?"

The man cleaning up his blade spoke up, "some kid that saw us. Didn't know what to do with him. Never had anyone see us before, so I knocked him out before big brains over here," he pointed to the man wiping down his pistols, "could alert the cops and blow the case."

"What will we do with him?"

"I don't know. But Chan will."

Jisung awoke, his head pounding and eyes crusted shut. He'd had the weirdest dream and was confused as to what it meant but paid no attention to it and ruled it off as a drunken dream. That's right, he went out drinking with his friends last night. That explains the pounding headache and why he feels so sickly. As he peeled his eyes open, little brown flakes fell from his eyelashes, he was slightly confused at that but it didn't matter to him, he just wanted to take a nice warm shower and have some breakfast. The thought of his dream or how surprisingly not hungover he was, was immediately pushed to the back of his mind when he noticed the difference in his bed and the entirety of the room itself. 

He looked around the small room and was confused when he saw he was in a small (probably children's sized) bedroom, in a single bed layered with dirt, dust and holed sheets; dusty covered wooden floors with a few boot prints that led to the darkest corner of the room where a strange man in a chair sat, brandishing a small dagger and it was that moment that Jisung realised his dream was not a dream at all and the headache was actually from where he had been knocked out.

He scrambled against the headboard and his gaze shot to the door. Without a second's hesitation he jumped up out of the bed, tripped over and clambered towards the door, his feet dragging through the thick layer of grime and filth as he stumbled to get up and over to the door. His right hand reached for the door knob but before it could make contact with the handle it was pinned against the door by a standard tanto piercing blade. Just as the name suggests it had pierced through Jisung's hand and held it tight to the door like it was suddenly glued there with super glue. Jisung let out a curse that his grandmother would be offended to hear and clenched his left hand against his thigh. 

The man who threw the blade got up from his seat and sauntered towards him, slinging his arm over Jisung's shoulder as he gripped the knife and whispered into his ear, "I wouldn't do that if I were you. There are eight of us of us in this house that will kill you at any moment in time if you try to escape, so I suggest you behave~" he chimed, his emotionless tone sent frightened tremors through Jisung's body, he choked out a sob as the stranger ripped the knife from out of his hand and wiped the blade on Jisung's chest. 

"Now let's go get you to the others so we can assess you, hmm?" his duality in the ton of his voices almost shocking him as much as the amount of blood now spilling from the wound in his hand. He felt dizzy, stars and spots forming in his vision and the bile of his stomach threatening to spill further than his throat. What did they need to asses him on? Ways to kill him? If hey were going to let him leave? He hoped it was the latter.

Jisung decided that if he wanted to get out of here alive he would listen to him and hopefully he would be let go, back to the real world. He grabbed his hand, the agonising pain from the action of the boy yanking the blade out caused his entire arm to go numb and ache. He winced as he tried his hardest to contain some of the blood. The stranger opened the door and turned to usher Jisung out, he noticed the boy was now covered in blood (his own fresh blood and dried blood from the man in the alley) and felt slightly sympathetic. He stabbed at his shirt, making an incision which he fingered until it got big enough to tear a hefty strip of fabric from the mid-torso, he wrapped it tightly around Jisung's wound, eyes apologetic and sad, in extreme contrast to the malicious smile on his face.

"There, all better now!" The stranger cheered. Jisung wondered what the hell was wrong with him. The squiggles and black spots obstructing his view started to fade slowly. He blinked his eyes a few times, adjusting them to the differences in vision. By now the man had turned around and started skipping along a hallway. Jisung wanted to run and cry and scream for help. He wanted his family, his friends, his house. He also wanted his life. He valued that. He didn't want to die. He whittled his thoughts down to following the boy with the hope that he could talk to someone sane and hopefully get out of here.

The house was filthy and was probably only big enough to house two people. How in the hell were eight people living here? He followed the boy through the house until he stopped and held his hand out for Jisung to stop walking while he peered into the room ahead of him. Jisung obeyed. He stopped. Still terrified. He noticed his legs trembling. There was sweat dripping down his face despite the chills that flooded him when he heard a voice saying "bring him in". A particularly nasty stab-like sting shooting through his hand made him wince and look at it, the blood had soaked through the fabric entirely and it was now beginning to drip in a small, metallic pool beneath him, the makeshift tourniquet compressed it somewhat but if he didn't have it checked out soon. He would probably die. If the blood loss didn't kill him. Someone in this house probably would. 

The boy pulled Jisung by his blood-stained sweater into the room he just investigated and practically shoved him forward. Jisung stumbled and tripped, throwing his hands out to stop his fall, that was a big mistake however since it sent volts of pain shooting through his veins, he collapsed on the ground with another hiss and a strangled cry escaped his throat as he tried to sit up.

Once he was upright he gripped his hand in retaliation and cursed again. he looked at the people in the room, six of them to be precise. He noticed the two men from the alley, the one that tried to shoot him and the one that knocked him out, he noticed a tall, slender boy, cleaning his nails and hands of dried blood; a man that slightly resembled a bear, if Jisung wasn't so terrified he would possibly say it was oddly charming and, well cute; a man with dirty blonde hair, it was matted together with dirt and he looked like he hadn't slept in three weeks; there was another boy with soft peach coloured hair and freckles, nervously chewing on his nails and staring at Jisung with wide eyes, he looked like he was kind and unable of killing him; a boy with sharp features and cat-like eyes surveyed Jisung, looking him up and down as though he would like to eat him. Jisung shuddered and watched as the boy that brought him into the room traipsed merrily over to the rest of the boys.

They all looked, normal? Jisung expected them all to look like serial killers...whatever serial killers looked like. They didn't look normal did they? They all stared at him, watching him like hawks to their prey, he felt terrified and uncomfortable. He was squeamish and felt like he was going to throw up. He just wanted to leave. He hated this. He hoped it was just a fever dream or was actually very hungover from the night before. He tore his eyes away from them, desperately trying to find something to bring him some sort of hope at this particular time. However the only thing they landed on was the dead body from the alleyway, it laid in a dusty corner, smears of dirt, mud and blood left tracks on the floor leading from the corner to the front door. He was dragged in. 

Jisung quivered, an accidental sob wracking through his throat as he tried to back into a corner. He was going to end up like him. They were going to kill him. He wouldn't ever see his family again. They would worry about him, where he was, if he was okay. He'd never had a relationship or a first kiss. He'd never gotten high. He'd never gone skydiving or rock climbing. He hadn't experienced the world yet and now he was going to die, scared, terrified, alone and with a stab wound at such a young age.

He tried to stand up to run, knowing it was a bad idea but he had to get away from them. He found his footing and looked around for a way out. The loss of blood had already made him dizzy enough to not be able to see where he was going. Wherever he was going to go anyway, the only exit he knew of was through the boys. Maybe he could find an exit somewhere in the rest of the house? He had to try and find out anyway. As he was about to turn and run through the doorway he just came through, he saw a few of the boys jump up and start towards him. The last thing he saw was the floor before everything went black. 


	2. two

Jisung felt himself waking up again. He kept his eyes shut though, wishing to never open them and see that horrible, dingy, old house ever again. He never wanted to see those oddly normal looking, terrifying people ever again. Never wanted to smell the mold, rot and stench of death ever again. Never wanted to feel the uncomfortably thin mattress beneath him ever again. Never wanted to hear two deep voices discussing something about dealing with the body ever again. Never wanted to feel the pain of his hand ever again. And he never ever wanted to feel the bed dip beside him and someone gently the brush hair off of his forehead ever, ever again. These people were fucking insane and he just wanted to leave.

He opened his eyes and sat upright instantaneously, hoping to scare off whoever it was beside him. The person sitting on the bed didn't even flinch, let alone move away from him so that plan was a bust. Jisung felt himself starting to lose control of his composure. He felt it slipping, along with the tears from his eyes and the short, quick breaths from his mouth. “Let me go! P-please just let me go! Don’t kill me! I won’t tell anyone, I promise! I promise! I promise!” He was a stuttering mess, repeating himself over and over again as he cried. At this point the man beside him on the bed had tried to tell Jisung to calm down and lay back down so he could help him. 

His futile attempts at calming him only worsened when Jisung tried to climb out of the bed, he had noticed the restraints around his ankles, tying him down to the bed so he couldn’t leave. His panic multiplied tenfold. He thrashed and screamed, alerting the other boys in the house. All eight of them now stood around Jisung as he thrashed and cried, unsure of how to handle the situation. They had never had to deal with a witness before. Why now?

Two of the boys jumped forward onto the bed, the man with the sharp features and cat-like eyes and the man with the blade that knocked him out the night of the murder. The first man jumped on his legs, trying his hardest to hold them down on the bed while the other boy forced Jisung to lay back down. Climbing on top of him and sitting on his chest to get him to stop thrashing. “Calm down before I’m forced to knock you out again,” he growled. 

Jisung stopped. He didn’t wish for that. He stared at him. Still crying. Still panicking. Wishing he could just wake up. He hated this. All of it. Everything. Maybe it was better if they killed him. He doesn't want to be here. He wants to scream at them. Force them to get off of him. He can’t. The one on his chest looks small but he is freakishly strong. Jisung just cries more. He can’t breathe properly. He isn't sure if it’s from the weight on his chest or not. Its not. He’s panicking. Hes frightened. He needs a hug from his mother. What's going to happen to him. Will hey kill him? Torture him? Rape him? How old are they? Are they escaped mental patients? Is it a prank from his friends? He hopes so. It's not funny but it's better than what this actually is.

“Hey, hey listen to me. Listen to my voice. You’re okay. Listen, if you calm down we can talk, okay? I won't hurt you. We can talk. Just us okay?” the voice was muffled by Jisung’s thoughts, his head rang, thoughts and worries going a thousand miles and hour through his head. 

“Hey, shh. It's okay. Calm down. You're alright. Listen to me,” the voice was clearer this time. Jisung couldn’t see. Tears blurred his vision too much to be able to keep them open. He scrunched them tight as he sobbed. He hadn’t realised the two men had gotten off of him and rejoined the group of boys, he hadn’t noticed a dip in the bed next to him as he cried.

“Look, see. You're okay. It's going to be fine. Everything’s okay. Stop crying. Breathe. It’s okay,” Jisung could hear the voice right next to him now. His mind and heart stopped competing in a race for the fastest runner and let him calm down slightly. The voice was soothing. It told him what he wanted to hear. Told him he's going to be okay. He trusted the voice. Was it an angel? He liked whoever it was. He hadn’t realised he was being held in a tight, warm embrace. This is what he needed. He cried into the shoulder of whoever was holding him. If it was someone coaxing him to get close so they could kill him he didn't mind. They were comforting and soothed him. He wouldn't mind if they killed him like this. Knowing everything is going to be okay.

“Are you okay now?” 

Jisung nodded slowly, hesitantly. He didn't want to lift his face. His whole body ached from everything that happened in the past twelve hours. His hand was throbbing. He tried to breathe calmly. It came out raspy and shuddered into the warm material of the comforting hug from this person. He didn't want to look up. He didn't want to see weapons aimed at him, about to strike. He just wanted to stay in the warmth as he calmed down.

“Hey look at me,” the voice was warm and calm. It made jisung feel safe. He felt like he was going to be okay when he was with this person. He knew that this was just a facade the man was putting on though. No psychopath cares about someone. 

He lifted his head. His lip quivered and shook and he refused to open his eyes. Although he said he was okay if he got killed feeling safe. He still didn't want to see it happening. He felt a hand rest gently across his cheek. Something in him was telling him to lean into it. Perhaps a devil on his shoulder. Or maybe an angel on his shoulder He liked the thought of that. He leant into the touch and opened his eyes slowly to meet the sad and soft eyes of the sleep-deprived man holding him.

“There you go. See, you're alright. No one is going to hurt you,” he spoke softly and quietly. Like he was afraid of startling a baby deer in a forest.

Jisung looked around, the boys were gone. He hadn’t noticed them leave. That's good. He didn't like the others. They scared him. He liked this one. He was kind. He made him feel safe. He was safe. He had to keep reminding himself it was all an act. 

“Can you speak?” He didn't want to speak. “What's your name?” Why did he need to know? “How old are you?” the man asked Jisung, obviously just trying to start a conversation and distract the boy from his thoughts. He must have noticed how frantic Jisung became after hearing those questions. The last thing he wanted was to get him worked up again. “Don't worry! I only want to get to know you. Here i'll go first. My name is Bang Chan. you can call me Chan. I’m twenty-one. Now tell me about you… please?”

“Jisung…” he whispered faintly.

“What was that, speak up?” he smiled. It was a cute smile.

“My name… it’s Han Jisung. I'm eighteen. And I'm scared Chan,” he said it slightly louder this time. Looking up from his lap and at the older boy. “Are you going to kill me?”

He asked the question with such heartfelt intrigue that Chan felt sorry for the poor boy. He had been so scared to the point where he felt like that was a normal question. Like asking someone about the weather or if they were hungry. Admittedly they should have moved the body and disposed of it but they hadn’t had the time; they were waiting for Jisung to wake up. They were curious about him. 

“No, we won't kill you.”

“So you’ll let me go?” his eyes lit up and Chan knew he had to shatter the hope that peeked its way through the boys fragile emotions.

“No, we can’t. Not yet anyway.”

Jisung's face fell. He started to cry again. It wasn’t hysterical this time. He wasn’t even sure why he was crying. Maybe it was because he wouldn’t be able to tell his parents that he’s okay. He wouldn't be able to explain to his friends why he never made it to Friday night drinks and how he's sorry he let them down. He didn't know if he was ever going to get a proper meal ever again or if he was ever going to shower ever again. He didn't know if he was ever going to be allowed to leave. Maybe if he pledged his silence to them they would let him go. He wasn't sure what the exact reason it was that made him sad. At least he wasn’t going to die anytime soon, right?

As that thought crossed his mind a sharp spasm started in his palm. His hand. He forgot about it with everything else that just happened. He winced as the pain started to gradually increase. It was getting sharper by the second and felt as though it was seizing up. He looked down at it. The fabric tourniquet had turned from a dirty white colour to a deep crimson all over. The holed sheets beneath where his hand had laid were soaked through with blood. The tips of his fingers had gone numb and slightly discoloured. He didn't realise the whimper that escaped his lips as he tried to make a fist. He could not. This started to worry him. Would his hand fall off? What if it never worked again? This was his dominant hand. How was he meant to do anything if it didn't work?

“Hey stop panicking. I'll get it fixed up, okay,” Chan spoke softly, slipping his left palm under Jisung's hand and his right hand gently tilted his chin so he was looking at the older boy. “I'm going to untie your ankles Jisung. Is that okay?” the younger nodded and Chan moved to the end of the bed to start untying. “You have to promise me you won't run off. Were trying to protect you by keeping you here. We’ll explain more to you later okay. But for now can you promise me you won't run off?”

Trying to protect him? They murdered someone in front of him. Tried to murder him. Failed. Knocked him out. Took him to a decrepit, old house. Scared him shitless, stabbed him in his most used hand. Tried their hardest to make him feel as unwelcome as possible. Watched him pass out from blood loss. Tied him to a bed. Didn't even bother to clean or dress the stab wound they gave him. Had two grown men sit on him and they’re trying to protect him? It sounds more like kidnapping and treating him like rubbish than protecting him. 

“Jisung? Can you promise me you won't run?” Chan's voice snapped him from his harsh thoughts. He nodded gently, unsure why he was even agreeing to do this when the group of them were nothing but murderous, bottom-feeding, cruel, heartless maniacs. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me on twitter @ HoneypotSung !!
> 
> hope you enjoyed it!!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed this! I wanna continue it so let me know if you’d like that?? I’m just trying to improve my writing skills
> 
> Follow me on Twitter @ HoneypotSung


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